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Friday, July 25, 2014

"You've got quite a thing going here." he said, stopping by as I reviewed analytics, "Quite ingenious of you."

"Does He approve?"

"For now." he said, "But I'm not so sure. All this is confusing."

"The prophets of old lived in a very different world, Michael. Information was heavily restricted, and the methods for training the mind to think properly were the province of the mystery schools. Most people were illiterate, uneducated, and narrowly skilled- if skilled at all. Knowledge, therefore, was restricted to what was in living memory for an individual and their family- unless he was part of the priest class or a mystery school initiate. Because of this state of affairs, having someone come along claiming to be a prophet speaking the Word of God was difficult, but hardly improbable, to accept- especially if he spoke the right way at the right time to the right audience."

Michael nodded.

"This remained consistent for millenia. Only in the last century or so has it really changed. Now? Forget about it; the paradigm changed, with it comes the conversation that a would-be prophet must have to be taken seriously, to be heeded and not just heard. I see, and so do you I expect, a lot of would-be sorts out there that might be heard but rarely--if ever--are heeded. That's because they don't know the rules, and because they don't know the rules they can't use them to their advantage."

"So, you've spent the time since I last talked to you doing this?"

"Correct."

"And your results are?"

"I've received my first invitation to a convention as a guest of honor, where I will be able to spread the word to a receptive audience with impunity."

"What?"

"That is the point, correct? To spread the word, that's the point. Well, then I have to take myself out of the equation as much as I can, so that the attention goes to the message and not to the messenger. This is the historical problem with prophecy; the flaw is that attention is too much paid to the man and not to the word. I've avoided, as much as possible, putting a face to the message; I use psuedonyms, obvious ones, to negate the tendency to attach importance to the messenger to the message. Even with this appearance offer, I'm considering turning it down because it means attaching a name and a face at last- and that means a host of issues that I'd rather avoid."

Friday, July 18, 2014

"You're no fool, Michael." I said, "You know what the rules for effective communications are. If I am to be heeded, let alone heard, I need solid proof. Faith alone is not enough."

"You leave that to The Man." he said, and off he went.

So, off I went to the usual place to start this sort of thing these days: The Internet. I sorted through all sorts of conspiracy nonsense, and even the more sensible stuff lacked sources or other evidence that I could verify independently. Other than some of the well-established material, which centered itself in more mundane government or corporate corruption and ownership complimented by long-running fraternal ties (or their sorority counterparts) and inter-locking networks of corporate board memberships, I had a hell of a time finding anything that would make me credible. As this is not the days where some dude could stand in a public square, preach to whomever would listen, and slowly attract a following that will actually translate into socio-economic power--just watching cranks on YouTube make that plain--I had to come up with a better plan.

So, I did the logical thing: I created an online presence. I made a new Google account, so I could make the most of free stuff that Google offers. Facebook, Twitter, Podomatic, Instagram, Scribd, and so followed hot on those heels. I downloaded some free podcasting software, put up a site that could act as a landing platform for searches, and then started writing blog posts as well putting up stuff for reading and put together an audio-only podcast show. With some Powerpoint work, I turned the audio-only shows into YouTube vidoes. I made a personal subreddit at Reddit and used that as another avenue to get the word out, making the most of each media outlet's features to do what a lot of my rivals--especially the cranks--did not: post sources, citations, and other such evidence that others could follow up on their own.

Did I speculate? Yes, I did, and I said so clean and clear- often in BOLD ITALICS. I banned trolls without mercy, and once I got on the radar of the counter-intelligence brigades online I screen-shot and posted exposes. I attracted an initial crowd of rubber-neckers, trolls, cranks, and the other usual audience segments found out in Crazytown. I did my best to cull the toxic elements, and cultivate the sensible ones that would follow-up and act on what I provided. As one would expect, this became a full time job. Fortunately, due to the way that the various outlets worked, I could--and, soon, did--satisfy the standards of various sites' partnership requirements. That gave me one ad-supported revenue stream after the next, in addition to the donations I took in, which allows me to do this without outside interference in the form of a day job.

"Trust in The Lord, and he will provide." my late uncle, a retired minister, would say. Well, so far it's working. Time to start putting things together, and make use of outlets like Amazon and Lulu to publish what I put together. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be David Icke?

Friday, July 11, 2014

"Fine, fine, you want me to play at being a prophet. Blah, blah, blah, whatever. What's the message then?"

"Well," Michael said, "that's a very good question. Not that it will help, but I will tell you what is soon to happen. You see, He's about to let the really stupid monkeys down here finish their plans for total domination. There are two groups of monkeys at work here. One of them goes really far back, and they worship the losing side because they think that they can somehow avoid His trap and win. The other side is a front group for the first that's gotten out of hand. The first group are going to conduct a big ritual sacrifice, and the second group will provide--unwittingly--that sacrifice under the guise of scaring the world into letting them take total control."

"Nukes." I said, "They're going to nuke the planet."

"Correct." Michael smiled. "You're a smart one. Hold on, it gets better. The second group will create false terrorist attacks on the ten biggest cities in the world, and they will execute these attacks all at once. Just like that, the world's ten biggest monkey cages blow up, with all the monkeys in them instantly incinerated. Not even Uriel ever thought of that."

"And the first group intends to somehow use the energy of those deaths to do some magic thing that something-something-something and they win?"

"They think that they'll have enough power to empower the other side enough to win, and in return they'll rule the world as his chief henchmen."

"Wait," I said, "what's to say that this power will be contained enough to be used?"

Friday, July 4, 2014

I heard the impossible. I heard a knock on the door. I should hear nothing after that last seizure. I should be dead, blissfully dead.

The door knock. I heard it a second time, and then a muffled--but irritated--voice.

I got up and answered the door. I saw a man that looked like Christopher Walken, but too young to really be him, and too much like a well-known role of his, for it to be him.

"You're Michael." I said.

"Clever monkey." he said, and he pushed past me into my room, shutting the door.

"I'd tell you to not be afraid, but that's obvious, and before you ask: I had a hand in the first one, but the others didn't have my guiding hand, and the me portrayed isn't actually mad with Him. Just a story, albeit one with some truth to it."

"Well, that explains why I'm not quite dead yet."

"Look at you." he said, "Undone by a heart attack, brought on by all this stress felt due to a lifetime of frustration."

"You're not here to chit-chat." I said.

He smiled. "True, I'm not. I'm here on His behalf, and He has an offer for you."

"Go on." I said, sitting down.

"Your fellow monkeys finally got on His bad side, again."

"Well, I doubt I'm being asked to do the righteous smiting thing. Your kind is far better for that."

"I see why He picked your name out of the hat, as it were." Michael said, "You're the Final Prophet, if you accept. Your task will be to give the final warning to repent before the Judgement."

"This sort of negotiating seems far more reminscent of a gangster film than a proper negotiation. Nonetheless, what happens should I refuse."

"Death, and not the sort that relieves. Total and eternal severance from Him. You think you folks go mad being alone too long now?"

I quickly put the dots together. "Okay. And what's on offer for acceptance."

"If you're lucky, a remnant of your kind will get back on His good side and be allow to start over after the mass exterminations, and you--assuming you hold up your end--are guaranteed eternity in blissful serenity."

The door to my room exploded inward, and another man who looked like Christopher Walken walked into the room.

"Not. Funny." he said to the other one, and in a smooth motion snatch me up and took me away. Since Kansas is well behind me at this point, I just went with it. Some time soon thereafter, he sat me down and stared at me.

"Did you decide?"

"Nope. I figured it had to be a trap, because you folks who are still on God's side don't negotiate. You just deliver news or execute commands."

"True. That said, there is something He wants you to do, and you're not dead yet because this work is yours, like it or not."

"Let me guess: I'm to warn the world of God's impending wrath?"

"Correct."

"Any help forthcoming from His end?"

"You don't die, yet. Other things to come as required; do your part, maintain faith in Him to handle the rest, and everything will go well."